


Fly on the Wall

by justsare



Series: Wedding Night Sonata [1]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2018-12-01 08:28:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11482533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justsare/pseuds/justsare
Summary: In which we observe some events leading up to Dot and Hugh’s wedding night.





	1. Fly on the Wall: Part One

**Author's Note:**

> I had a few requests for this, and quite wanted to know myself what had taken place, so here it is!  
> Also, this story takes place within the same timeline as "Wedding Night Sonata" and NOT the same as "Slow Burn", so the first two chapters are fairly close to canon-compliant I guess.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we observe the conversation between Jack and Hugh that took place before the events in my story "Wedding Night Sonata".

Detective Inspector Jack Robinson pushed aside a stack of paperwork and tiredly ran a hand down his face. He felt his jaw for stubble. He rubbed his eyes. He closed his eyes, just for a second, and pictured bending Miss Fisher over the desk.

“Sir?”

Jack’s eyes flew open and settled on Hugh, standing awkwardly in the doorway. Jack drew a deep breath, cursing in his head. He couldn't even _kiss_ the woman, never mind fuck her on his desk. He needed to stop imagining impossibilities. “Yes, Collins?” he asked quietly.

“Sir, shift ended a few minutes ago…”

“You can go home, then, Constable,” Jack replied, but Hugh didn't move. “Do you need something?”

“Well, Sir...” Hugh hesitated. His cheeks tinged pink. “I was wondering if I could…” He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “...if I could talk to you, Sir,” he finished at last.

Jack raised an eyebrow and gestured to the chair opposite him. Hugh closed the office door and sat down, fidgeting nervously. Jack considered his Senior Constable. Since his return to duty he had been as eager as ever, especially since he was sharing accommodations with another Constable until his and Dorothy’s wedding, some few days hence. “What’s on your mind, Collins?” Jack asked quietly.

“Well, Sir, it's just….the wedding.” Hugh looked up in time to see Jack struggling to raise an expression of interest, and smiled knowingly back. “No, Sir, not the wedding itself. Dottie and Miss Fisher and Mrs Stanley are looking after everything for that.” Hugh grinned as Jack didn't even bother to hide his relief. “It's more... _after_ the wedding, Sir…” Hugh blushed even more.

Jack groaned inwardly but tried to keep his face neutral.

“As you know, Sir, my dad is...is gone, and I…” Hugh fell silent, staring fixedly at his hands, twisting in his lap. “I have questions and I don't have anyone else to ask,” he said finally.

Jack considered Hugh’s options. Cec and Bert would likely be more than happy to answer any questions the boy might have, and so might Mr Butler, but though he was uncomfortable, he was maybe a little bit glad that Hugh had chosen him. He tried to smile disarmingly, but wasn't sure how well he wore the expression. It didn't matter anyway, because Hugh was still staring at his hands.

Jack cleared his throat. “Collins...of course, I'm...honoured. What...what do you want to know?”

Hugh risked a glance at his boss’s face, then seemed to relax a little as he saw Jack’s unvoiced but genuine care for him. “It's just that...Dottie is the best thing that's ever happened to me. She's the kindest, gentlest soul. And I don't want to hurt her. And I know that… I've heard that…that it's painful, Sir. The first time. For girls. Ladies.” He swallowed hard. “And I've hurt her enough already,” he murmured, barely audible.

Jack took a deep breath, considering his response. He thought of Rosie and their wedding night; how clumsy he had been, how afraid she had been. How his cheeks had burned at the memory of his mother’s advice, but how he'd done it anyway, and the pleasure that had ensued.

“Well, I don't have as much...experience...as you might be imagining, but I can give you a few...pointers, as it were. The main thing is that it doesn't have to hurt. It will, if you just shove your... _yourself_...in there as quickly as you can. But if you're focused on her...pleasure...first, you can make it much less painful for her.”

Hugh looked up eagerly. “What do I have to do?”

Jack’s lip twisted slightly. “I'm hardly an expert, but…” he withdrew a pencil and piece of paper from his desk and quickly sketched the female genitalia, then turned the drawing around to face Hugh. Both seemed to have surrendered to the awkwardness of the moment, and focused on the task at hand. “First, keep in mind that you want to touch her whole body, not just the parts you find interesting. Stroke her thighs. Kiss her stomach.” Jack closed his eyes for a brief moment, making sure that he was imagining Miss Fisher’s body and not Miss Williams’. “Be gentle, touch her lightly until she asks you to touch harder,” he continued. “So. Stroke her thighs. Stroke upwards and touch her pubic hair, then be very, very gentle touching here,” he pointed on the diagram. “And here.”

Hugh swallowed. “Miss Fisher gave me this book, once, about…” he hesitated. “Well it had a lot of things but I saw...about kissing... _here_?” He gestured to the diagram.

Jack nodded. “Sure. Licking, sucking, those are great. Just...start gently. Listen to her. Sometimes she will use her hands in your hair to guide you where she wants you - just let her. Bringing a woman pleasure is very...fulfilling.” Jack could hear his own voice, but wasn't even sure what he was saying. All he could imagine was spreading Miss Fisher open on this desk and burying his face in her. He swallowed, trying to focus. “If you're very lucky, she'll do the same for you,” he added absently, and the thought of Miss Fisher’s lips wrapped around his cock almost made him explode. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“You mean Dottie might...put her mouth on me?” Hugh looked shocked, but definitely interested.

“Some women enjoy it,” Jack replied (he bet Miss Fisher would), “but you must wait until it's her idea,” he cautioned. “You just focus on giving her as much pleasure as you can. Lick, suck, kiss,” he gestured at the diagram. “If you're lucky, you can bring her to orgasm this way. Maybe even more than once,” he added.

Hugh nodded. “I'll do my best.”

Jack hid a smile. “So...pleasure will make her...wet,” he continued. “A thick sort of fluid will build up here,” he pointed, “and some might trickle out. Use your fingers to spread it around a bit. Use it to make your fingers slide easily against her skin. Too much friction is painful,” he added. “Start with one finger, and press in here. Move it very slowly in and out, see how she's responding.” The image of his own fingers disappearing inside Miss Fisher made his breath catch. “If she seems to be enjoying it, try adding a second finger. Once you've got your fingers fairly deep inside her, you'll feel a...barrier, almost. It's not complete; you could probably fit a finger through it. The idea is to (gently!) stretch and massage that barrier so that when you...enter her...it's not a rough breaking motion, just a bigger stretch.”

“Will there be blood, Sir?” Hugh looked worried.

“Maybe,” Jack admitted. “But the better you make it for her, the less painful it will be.” Hugh nodded. Jack continued, “when you do enter her, try to make sure you're lined up properly. Have her draw in a deep breath and enter her as she does, that should help too. And don't be afraid to talk to her. Tell her how you feel, reassure her that you love her and think she's wonderful.” Hugh nodded.

“One last thing, Collins,” Jack added as he slid his chair back from the desk. “Your first time...your first several times… probably won't last as long as you hope. Don't worry about it too much. Just enjoy it. Going for too long will make her sore, anyway, so just enjoy everything as it, er, comes.” He winced at the unintentional pun.

Hugh stood awkwardly, tugging his jacket down. Jack stayed seated. Since he'd met Miss Fisher he'd become, of necessity, quite good at hiding his erections, but he didn't want the risk of Hugh noticing and getting the wrong idea. He smiled reassuringly at his constable.

“Well, thank you, Sir,” Hugh said quickly, grabbing Jack’s inexpert drawing from the desk and stuffing it into his pants pocket. Jack nodded, letting his head fall back onto his chair as Hugh let himself out of the office. Jack drew a deep breath, imagining the smell of her perfume and how it always announced her presence. He drew in a second breath and frowned. He wasn't _imagining_ the perfume. His eyes flew open, and he looked to his right, where the corridor door was not quite closed. As quietly as he could, Jack slipped from his chair and crept to the door, the smell of Miss Fisher’s perfume growing stronger as he neared the door. He heard what sounded like heavy breathing on the other side of the door and - he held his breath, the better to listen - the sound of rustling fabric and the slightly squelchy sounds of flesh on flesh - _ohhh_. Jack bit back a groan of arousal as his cock throbbed heavily in his trousers. He imagined the scene on the other side of the door: Miss Fisher, driven to distraction by his instructions to Hugh, rubbing herself frantically in the corridor.

Jack held his breath, indecision making him light-headed. Ought he to go out into the corridor and “catch” her, perhaps offer his assistance? Or ought he to let her finish, stay in his office and pretend he hadn't realized she was there?

He was still hesitating when she gave a long, shuddering sigh, and he realized he'd waited too long. He gripped himself tightly through the fabric of his trousers and hurried as quietly as he could back to his chair, sitting down with a squeak of its springs. He winced and quickly pretended absorption in one of the papers on his desk.

A moment later she was breezing through the door, looking as collected as ever, and she perched on the side of his desk. His nostrils flared as he breathed in deeply, her perfume tinged heavily with the scent of her arousal, and it was with a jolt that he realized that this smell was familiar to him. In fact, she had quite often carried this scent. He risked a glance up at her face and she was watching him closely. He reached out gently and took her right hand in his, bringing it closer to him, until her hand was in front of his face. He breathed in deeply, then pressed a kiss to her palm, his tongue snaking out of its own accord, desperate to taste her. She made a small noise of pleasure and encouragement as he let his tongue follow the lines of her palm, trailing down her index finger, surrendering as he took her finger into his mouth and sucked, greedy for her, the taste of her arousal on her skin almost more than he could bear.

After a moment, having sucked her finger clean, he released her from his mouth and gently set her hand back at her side, looking up at her face with as much dignity as he could manage. “Well, Miss Fisher. To what do I owe the...pleasure?”

She smirked, but he was pleased to see that he had rattled her somewhat. “I came to discuss the case,” she murmured, and he grinned wickedly back.

“That's why you...came...is it?” Jack asked mildly, and the colour rose in her cheeks.

“Is it a bad time?” she countered, her eyes lowering to his lap, where his erection pulsed obviously along with his heartbeat.

“Oh, no,” he replied softly, “nothing unusual here.”

“Are you sure there's nothing requiring my assistance?” Her voice was gentle, with only the hint of laughter in her tone. He knew the offer was genuine, but couldn't quite make himself take the leap just yet.

He smiled. “Well, Miss Fisher, I did want to know what you thought about our main suspect.” He offered her the folder, and she took it automatically, her eyes still searching his face. Her gaze lingered on his mouth, long enough for him to know exactly what she was thinking, before she reluctantly turned her attention to the dossier in her hands, and Jack breathed a sigh of relief.

 


	2. Dot and Doctor Mac

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we observe the conversation between Dot and Doctor Mac that took place before the events in my story "Wedding Night Sonata".

It was Sunday morning - Mr Butler’s day off - but he was in the kitchen, mixing up two hangover remedies. Dot sat at the table, lost in thought.

 “Dorothy, can I leave these with you? Miss Fisher and Doctor MacMillan will need them when they wake up.”

 “Of course, Mr B. Enjoy your Sunday!” Dot smiled as he removed his apron and hung it away, grabbing his jacket on the way out the door.

 Dorothy looked at the two glasses of foul-smelling liquid. She put Miss Fisher’s into the refrigerator - it was only 7:30; Miss Fisher wouldn't wake for hours. Doctor Mac’s she put on a tray with a pot of tea and some toast, and carried it up the stairs. She crept quietly into the guest room and set the tray down on the bedside table. Dropping a straw down into the glass, she knelt down beside the bed and watched as the doctor’s right eye fluttered open. She groaned, then said to Dot, “okay.” Her eyes closed again.

 Dorothy guided the other end of the straw into the doctor’s mouth, keeping her own face well away from the glass. She watched with a commonplace sort of horror as the doctor drank the horrid liquid all up, leaving a greyish residue on the glass. When she'd finished, she whimpered softly, burying her face in the pillow upon which she lay. Dorothy rubbed her back sympathetically, then slipped quietly out of the room.

 Half an hour later, Dorothy was dusting in the parlour as Doctor Mac came down the stairs, dressed and looking much better. She stuck her head into the parlour, intending to thank Dot for her breakfast, but found Dorothy standing lost in thought, her duster held motionless in the air above a lamp.

“Dorothy?” Doctor Mac asked softly, trying not to startle her.

“Yes, Miss?” Dot turned her head towards the sound of her name, seeming not to notice the duster still in her hand. “Doctor MacMillan. Can I get you anything?”

 “No, thank you - are you all right?”

 “Fine, Miss,” Dorothy squeaked back.

 “Hmm,” Mac replied, and headed back into the hallway to take her coat from the rack.

 “Doctor Mac?” Dorothy’s voice was timid, but resolved.

 Mac smiled to herself and hung her coat back up. She came back into the parlour. “Yes?”

 “I was...wondering if I could talk to you,” Dorothy began. “Miss Fisher is wonderful, but she…” Dorothy trailed off. “Well, she just tells me everything will be fine, without telling me what everything _is_.”

 “You're worried about sex?” Mac guessed, and watched the girl’s cheeks flush.

 Dorothy nodded shyly. “I'm getting married soon and I...I just want to be...good. For Hugh.”

 Mac grinned. “And make sure he's good for you?”

 “Well, yes.”

 “It's a big deal, sex,” Mac admitted. “It's an important part of a marriage, a relationship.”

 Dorothy gulped.

 “Luckily,” Doctor Mac continued, “it’s also - well, it can be - quite a lot of fun.”

 “That’s what Miss Fisher says,” Dottie admitted quietly, “but I don’t see how.”

 “What in particular are you afraid of? Nudity? Penetration? Cunnilingus? Fellatio?”

Dot frowned. “I don’t even know what those last two mean,” she muttered.

Mac smiled. “Well, cunnilingus is when he uses his mouth to bring you pleasure. And fellatio is when you do the same for him.”

 Dot’s face, already flushed scarlet, edged towards puce. “Uses his mouth - our mouths - _where_?”

Mac grinned. “Where do you think?”

Dot tried to speak, but no sound escaped her lips. She sat down heavily onto the chaise. Her expression moved slowly from horror, to embarrassment, to interest, to resignation. At last, she looked up at Doctor Mac. “Tell me how.”

 Mac sat down beside her. “I assume you’re familiar with the anatomy aspect, at least?”

Dot shrugged. “I’ve changed diapers,” she replied.

“Well, there are a lot of changes between diapers and fellatio,” Doctor Mac laughed, “but everything stays in the same place. Have you spent much time pleasuring yourself?” She glanced at the expression on Dot’s face and sighed. “No, I thought not. You should, you know. It’s wonderfully freeing and relaxing. And if you know what you like, it’ll be easier for you to show your partners.”

 “Husband,” Dot corrected, softly but firmly.

 “Husband,” Mac agreed, stifling a smile. “Either way, you should learn at least the positions of things down there. Do you want me to draw a diagram?” Dot shook her head. “All right. So for the actual business of sex, the most important thing to remember is that actually having his penis in your vagina often feels better for him than for you, _but_ that doesn’t mean it can’t feel good for you. It’s all about where the nerve endings are. Yours are concentrated in your clitoris - that’s the little nubby bit at the top, just between the labia. If you or he rub there during penetration, it will help you along. In cunnilingus, he would put his mouth there and perhaps suck or lick your clitoris.”

Dot squeaked but said nothing, and Mac continued. “It can be too much sensation, so don’t be afraid to stop him if it gets to be too much. If he’s down there it’s for your pleasure, not his, so make sure it feels good for you. All right?” Dot nodded. “Men’s penises are very sensitive along the whole thing, but more of their nerve endings are concentrated in the head - the tip. So when you touch him, you can be considerably rougher with the shaft than you’d want to be with the tip. And if you want to try fellatio - “ Mac paused, taking in Dorothy’s screwed-shut eyes and flushed cheeks. “ - well, when you’re ready - just keep your teeth out of the way. Sort of tuck your lips around your teeth. Suck, lick, listen to him to know what he likes.”

 Mac briefly fell silent, and Dorothy opened her eyes and took a deep breath. “What’s the most important thing to know for the… the first time, Doctor Mac?”

 “It will probably be very quick,” she replied. “He’ll be very excited, and he may come just from a simple touch. That’s all right; he’s young and his refractory period is probably pretty short. Reassure him that it’s not a problem and that you’re not upset, and just keep going. In time his stamina will build and it will get better.” Mac paused, and then asked “Will you be using any kind of...family planning?”

 Dot shook her head.

 “I didn’t think so. But keep in mind - now, and for the future - that there are places he can come other than inside your vagina. You don’t need to try for a baby every time you have sex.”

 Dot nodded.

 “Sex is fun,” Mac said softly. “It’s okay to enjoy it. Especially with your husband.”

 Dot smiled. “Thank you, Doctor Mac. I shouldn’t keep you from your day any longer.”

 Mac smiled and rose from the chaise. “Don’t worry, Dorothy,” she murmured on her way out of the parlour. “Your Constable is a good man. He’ll make sure you’re well taken care of.”


	3. Dishonourable intentions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Phryne decides she’s had enough of listening in on other people’s conversations.

The Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher was feeling anything but honourable. She seemed to have spent a lot of time recently listening in to others’ conversations. The first one was an accident. She'd arrived at City South five minutes after Jack and Hugh’s shift ought to have ended, only to see Hugh disappearing into Jack’s office and closing the door. Of course she'd snuck into the hallway to listen - assuming they'd be discussing a case! She certainly hadn't expected to hear Jack awkwardly advising Hugh on how to bring a woman to orgasm.

Her heart raced again as she remembered the low rumble of his voice. She'd stood there, paralyzed as he spoke, half wanting to back away and leave with neither man realizing she'd even been there.

But then Jack’s voice had grown barely perceptibly huskier, the way it did when their bodies were close together and she was unable to stop herself from letting her eyes caress his philtrum and the cleft of his chin, and she'd felt the heat between her legs. She'd wondered if he was thinking of her, if he was imagining doing those things to her, and then with a precautionary glance around the empty station, she'd slid her fingers into her skirt and before she knew it she was coming right there in the hallway like a teenage boy.

And then.

Then Jack.

He must have heard her, she'd realized, because he certainly seemed to know what she'd been doing. And then he'd licked her sticky juices from her fingers. Phryne flushed, just the memory sending another rush of heat and wetness between her thighs, and she pressed them together. 

The man drove her crazy. She wanted him with an intensity she'd never known, made all the worse by the knowledge that he was holding himself back from her because he cared about her. That wasn't her experience with men, and it unsettled her.

That she couldn't just take him to bed to get it out of her system had her frustrated and edgy. Her father’s reappearance in her life had her irritated and exasperated. All in all, she was quite miserable.

And yet.

The touch of Jack’s mouth on her skin had been heavenly. Her blood had pounded through her veins as though it was on fire. She'd never been closer to spreading herself open on his desk and begging him to take her.

Instead she'd left his office and gone to find Mac. Out on the town they'd danced all night, arriving at Wardlow in the early hours of Sunday morning.

Phryne had woken much earlier than usual - barely 8am! - and, much to her dismay, found no tray of tea and hangover remedy waiting for her. She'd come down the stairs slowly, careful not to jostle her brain as it rattled in her skull, and had heard Mac’s and Dot’s voices in the parlour.

Unable to help herself, and telling herself that she had every right to listen to conversations in her own home, Phryne had crept to the side of the parlour door and listened as Mac explained, in her clinical way, the mechanics of sex.

Despite a momentary pang that Dot had gone to Mac instead of coming to her, Phryne thought that Mac was doing a competent job. In fact, she could nearly envision the movements being described - could imagine herself acting them out with a certain Detective Inspector. Phryne flushed, and moved away from the door. Her hangover forgotten, she'd hurried back up the stairs to her bedroom. She needed to get dressed.

And that was how, at barely eight thirty on a Sunday morning, the Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher, feeling slightly less than Honourable, found herself pulling up to a small, tidily kept bungalow, and following the sound of Jack’s voice to the back yard, where she found him pulling weeds and singing quietly to his flowers. His hands were dirty, and he wore an old, soft shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His hair was tousled, and there was a smudge of soil on his cheek. When Phryne caught sight of him she froze.

It was several moments before he looked up, but when he did, he froze, too. They stared wordlessly at each other (for a moment? For hours? For years? Neither could tell). At length Jack dipped his hands into a nearby bucket, and washed them slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. Finally he rose from his crouch and took a step towards her, and Phryne’s restraint broke. She launched herself at him and he caught her, crushing her against him, his hands landing on her hips and holding her close as they shared the same gasps of breath, lips inches apart.

“Jack,” she whimpered softly.

“Miss Fisher,” he rumbled softly back.

Her heart was pounding in her chest - surely he could feel it - and without thought or care she was practically grinding herself against him, feeling her dress growing damp against the ridge of arousal forming in Jack’s soft trousers. The knowledge that his body wanted hers made her knees weak. She looked up into his face, which was looking down at her with a curious mix of concern, tenderness, and fiery desire. “I'm not playing anymore, Jack,” she said quietly but clearly. “Take me now or send me away, but I can't take this any longer!”

Jack cocked his head, his eyes greedily searching her face, even as his hands on her hips held her steady against him, the faintest kneading of his fingertips on her ass his only movement as his heart thudded against her chest and his cock throbbed against her core. “What's gotten into you this morning?” He breathed quietly, not seeming to expect a response. He slid one hand up her back, coming between her shoulder blades; the other cupped the small of her back, fingers splayed. He pulled her even closer, her heat against him making him shudder as he lowered his lips to hers.

As their mouths met, their first proper kiss was stripped of all propriety as Jack’s lips parted, his tongue coming out to slip between Phryne’s, and she welcomed him in, sucking greedily at his tongue, his lips, even as their hips rutted against each other.

Jack pulled away with a gasp, dragging his lips along her jaw, down the side of her neck, pressing wet, sucking kisses at her skin. “Phryne,” he moaned, “I want to court you, I want to seduce you, not just fuck...just fuck you in the -” Jack broke off as a shudder ran through Phryne and into him, her hips stuttering against his and a series of low moans escaping her lips. “Oh, Phryne, darling. Did you...I...you…” words failing him, the knowledge that the woman of his dreams had just been brought to orgasm in his arms, in his garden, was too much. He gathered her up in his arms and sprinted up the steps to his back door, swinging through the door and kicking it closed before pressing her up against it.

Phryne couldn't decide whether she was embarrassed or not, but Jack certainly had taken the hint. Pleasure was still pulsing through her in gentle waves as she watched him yank his own shirt off over his head, revealing a magnificently sculptured torso. She could clearly see the shape of his arousal, and the front of his trousers was damp. She reached to feel the front of her dress, wondering whether the moisture was his or hers, but his hands brushed hers aside as he gathered the hem of the dress and pulled it up. His fingers slid up her thighs, past her garters, and, his moan announcing the discovery that she wore no knickers, he sank two fingers straight into her, his thumb rubbing at her clit.

Phryne’s back arched, offering her breasts to his mouth, but he ignored them, watching her face as he plunged his fingers in and out of her, taking deep breaths as he struggled to control himself, wanting at least to make it to the bed with her.

Phryne reached down and closed her fingers around him through his trousers and he shuddered. “Fuck, Phryne,” he groaned, redoubling his efforts between her thighs, trying to distract her from his cock, but though her eyes fell closed and her hips rocked against his hand, both of her hands were on his trousers now, unfastening them and pushing so that they fell from his hips, and he reluctantly gave in, pulling his fingers from her to send his smalls down to the floor, too, then reaching for her again, both of his hands slipping up her thighs.

“No, Jack,” Phryne moaned softly, “I need you inside me.”

“Here?” he protested, “the bedroom’s just…”

He trailed off as Phryne sank gracefully to her knees, reaching for his cock with her hand and bringing him to her mouth, his body jerking as he felt her lips wrap around him. He'd never felt anything like it, he was going to explode any second, and he wanted to stop her but he never wanted her to stop. He moaned, “Miss Fisher…”

She released him with a gentle pop, long enough to look up at him and murmur, “taste your fingers, Jack,” before sinking her mouth onto him once more.

Jack looked at his hands, curious. Despite his efforts to clean them, his right was still flecked with soil and bits of weeds. His left, the one that had been holding the bag, was cleaner, and glistening with sticky moisture. He brought his hand up to his mouth and flicked his tongue across it, tasting the same juices he'd licked from her fingers - had that been only last night? With a growl he pulled his hips back, his cock slipping from her mouth, and pulled her up to stand, lifting her easily and pressing her back against the door. “Here,” he rumbled, “I'm going to fuck you right here.”

Phryne moaned, feeling the wetness trickling down her thighs. “God, yes, Jack. Please.”

Without another word Jack lifted her against the door, and she wrapped her legs around his hips. He guided his cock into her slowly at first, but as the wet heat surrounded him he began to lose control, pulling her down hard onto him the rest of the way, both of them crying out as their bodies joined completely. Jack slid one hand up to cradle the back of her head, the other on her hip as he began to thrust into her, her voice rising in a wail of pleasure as he pounded his hips into hers.

Phryne felt like she was leaving her body. She could hear herself screaming in pleasure, could see Jack’s face in front of her, his jaw tight in concentration, his eyes opening and closing as he fought for control, could feel her hip bones bruising her skin as they made contact over and over with the door, but all she could focus on were the bruising thrusts of his cock inside her, as though he was so desperate to take her that he would tear her apart. She was screaming as the force of his thrusts kept her in a constant state of near-orgasm, a breath from the edge again and again and again, and then suddenly he shifted his weight just a little and his thrusts began to grind her clit between them and she was lost, shuddering helplessly against him as she came, and came, and came, his name on her lips breaking apart into wordless shrieks of pleasure.

Jack held on as long as he could, but the wild spasming around his cock was too much, and he came with a shout, his head falling to her shoulder as he mumbled incoherently.

The only words Phryne could make out were her own name and “fuck”, over and over, and she wrapped her arms around him tenderly as her tight walls continued to spasm around him. They clung to each other even as Jack’s knees buckled and he took two staggering steps to collapse into a chair, the movement forcing his still-hard cock up deeper inside her and making them both cry out again; Jack in over-stimulated sensitivity, Phryne in another orgasm. He held her tenderly as she shuddered in his arms, cradling her against his broad chest.

Finally there was silence. Jack held Phryne in his arms, having sated, at least for now, the wild desire that had brought her to his door. He wondered what she wanted him to say now, what she wanted him to do. Had this been all she wanted? Would she cast him aside even knowing it would break his heart? Did she realize the extent of his feelings for her, the reason he'd been so careful to keep their relationship from becoming physical? He sighed, and Phryne looked up at him. “Kiss me,” she requested softly, and he obliged, pressing his lips tenderly to hers, getting lost in her softness and the sweet weight of her against him. She purred softly into his mouth, cuddling into him.

“I want to do that again,” she said softly, and he opened his mouth to protest that he wasn't 22 anymore, but she smiled. “Not right this second. But I want to make love with you in your bed, the way you want to. In my bed. In my parlour. Everywhere.”

He tilted his head, saying nothing, his eyes never leaving her face. “Everywhere,” he repeated quietly. “That could take a while.”

Phryne smiled, and it was like the sun coming up. “Oh yes,” she agreed. “Quite a long time.”


End file.
